


twist of fate

by fireflyslove



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hastur can get bent, Listen I just do mean things to Az and Crowley says mean things to him, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 12:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19723390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflyslove/pseuds/fireflyslove
Summary: "I’m sorry,” Crowley said. “You must have meant something to me, but I just… can’t remember.”Or: Crowley loses his memory and Aziraphale deals with the consequences.





	twist of fate

**Author's Note:**

> Look, y'all can blame coldwinterrose for this one. I was suggesting light and fluffy memory loss fics (which might still happen) and then she suggested the thing that resulted in THIS, and well, apparently I needed some GO angst. 
> 
> This was supposed to be like.. 800 words.
> 
> Title, as all my Good Omens fic, apparently, from Run Away--The Band Perry

Crowley didn’t sleep every night, he often said he did his best work around 9:45 in the evening, but it was a once-or-twice-weekly occasion. Of late, he had been sleeping in the bed in the apartment above Aziraphale’s bookshop. A suspicious number of plants had shown up in said apartment, but Aziraphale wasn’t going to say anything until Crowley did, and the demon showed no signs of mentioning them. 

On the mornings when Crowley was still asleep and Aziraphale had nothing pressing to do, he often cooked himself breakfast. The smell of frying bacon usually woke Crowley up and sometimes he even deigned to steal a piece from the angel’s plate. 

So when he failed to make an appearance by the time Aziraphale finished his eggs, the angel was curious. Perhaps Crowley had slipped out in the night without Aziraphale noticing?

He quietly pushed the door to the bedroom, and stuck his head inside, expecting to find an empty but neatly made bed. Instead he found Crowley in bed, blankets drawn up to his chin, a wide-eyed expression on his face. 

“Who are you?” he asked, voice small.

“Aziraphale,” Aziraphale said, a shot of concern going through his body.

“Who am I?” Crowley asked.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale answered. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Crowley said. “I… I don’t know… anything? I don’t know who I am or where I am.” His breaths quickened until he was nearly hyperventilating. 

Aziraphale crossed the room and sat next to Crowley, running his hand absently through the demon’s hair. This sort of contact usually brought out a purr in the demon, but this time he flinched away as if Aziraphale had burned him.

“Don’t touch me,” Crowley said. 

“I… I am sorry,” Aziraphale said. “Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“Go away,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale stood stiffly and walked out of the room, his heart twisting in his chest as he did so. He puttered around the apartment and, after a few hours, the shop. It was midday when Crowley, dressed half in his own clothes and half in ones he must have found in Aziraphale’s closet, appeared in the shop.

He said nothing to Aziraphale as he left, only glanced over his shoulder, his eyes still wide and afraid. He was not wearing shades.

-

Two days passed before Aziraphale saw Crowley again. He was worried the entire time, and although he kept tabs on Crowley’s presence in the city, he didn’t approach him. Crowley wandered back into the shop in the middle of the afternoon. He was wearing shades again, though not his usual pair. 

“Hello,” he said awkwardly.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said. 

“I’m trying to figure out my life, and all the signs keep pointing me back to here,” Crowley said. “I thought, perhaps… you could enlighten me?” 

“Do you remember anything?” Aziraphale asked. 

“No,” Crowley said. “And these  _ things  _ keep happening. I think about something and it just  _ happens. _ ”

Aziraphale didn’t know how to respond to that. Crowley… thought he was human?

“Strange,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve known you a long time, Crowley.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said. “You must have meant something to me, but I just… can’t remember.”

His words twisted a knife in Aziraphale’s heart, and he felt the world shift under his feet. He stared down into his cup, and the silence stretched awkwardly between them. 

“Well I’ll just… go then,” said Crowley. “Sorry for bothering you.”

The door shut behind him, and a sob ripped its way out of Aziraphale’s chest. 

-

In the weeks that followed, Aziraphale tried to go about his life as normal. But… there was no normal. Since a few days after the beginning of  _ time _ he had had Crowley flitting about somewhere, always on the edge of his awareness, even in the times they hadn’t been speaking to each other. Aziraphale could tell he was still out there, somewhere, still in the city. 

He stopped by Crowley’s flat a week after the disaster in the bookshop. The Bentley was still parked outside, covered in a fine film of pollen, apparently just as forgotten as Aziraphale himself. Aziraphale let himself inside. The plants were starting to show signs of neglect, and Aziraphale took pity on them and watered them, muttering under his breath all the while. He might have imagined it, but more than one of them seemed to curl a leaf toward him. 

A month passed, and Aziraphale sometimes followed Crowley’s presence, just to see him. He was staying somewhere on the other side of London. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he was supporting himself, but he was dressed differently. (Actually, he was wearing khaki and beige, angelic colors that looked Wrong on him.) His hair was short, shorter than Aziraphale had ever seen it, combed to the side and gelled down. 

After six weeks, Aziraphale moved the plants into his flat, arranging them around the bedroom that he had avoided since that morning. The bedclothes were still in a state of disarray. 

He vanished the entire bed. 

-

A season passed, and Aziraphale thought he should be growing used to the yawning space in his life where Crowley was supposed to be, but it was still a rude shock every time he thought about it. 

It was midsummer now, almost four years since the Apocamiss, and Aziraphale felt the sudden need to get out of the city. He wasn’t usually one for driving, but something urged him to. He went to the garage where he paid to house the Bentley, and sweet talked her into starting for him. Like the plants, she missed Crowley. The feeling was so strong that Aziraphale almost got out, but no, he would get through it.

He drove out of London, mindlessly choosing roads. It didn’t surprise him, though, to end up in Tadfield. 

Jasmine Cottage stood just as lovely as the last time he had seen it, and he rolled to a stop outside. He hadn’t intended to get out, but the door opened, and Anathema Device stepped out. 

“There’s tea if you want some,” she called. 

Aziraphale hesitated, but … what would be the harm? He parked the Bentley, and entered the cosy cottage. 

The kitchen was small, but bright. Anathema bustled around, her hair piled neatly on top of her head. She set three cups on the table, each steaming softly. 

“Sugar?” she asked. 

“Two, please,” Aziraphale said. 

A door across the room opened, and Newt stepped into the kitchen, shutting it softly behind him. “She’s just asleep,” he murmured, and then jumped when he saw the visitor at the table. 

“Should I be worried?” he asked. 

“No,” Aziraphale said. “At least not that I know of.”

“What brings you out to Tadfield?” Anathema asked. 

“I went for a drive,” Aziraphale said. He took a sip of his tea, and then the entire story spilled out of his mouth. 

After he was finished, Anathema took his hand in hers, squeezing gently. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“I don’t suppose you know any memory spells,” Aziraphale said. 

Anathema huffed quietly. “I can try a thing or two, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I’m taking any option at this point,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“And you have no idea what caused it?” Newt asked.

“I’d wager a guess on Heavenly interference,” Aziraphale said darkly, taking a sip of his now-lukewarm tea. 

“Bastards,” Anathema muttered.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said.

-

He returned to London late that night, tucked the Bentley into her garage, and walked back to his bookshop, intent on spending the next week copying every book by hand to distract himself. 

He didn’t notice the being standing outside the door until he ran into their chest. 

They were tall, taller than most humans, and they blinked owlishly down at Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure if they were angelic, demonic, or neither. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said carefully. 

They said nothing, only held out a scroll. Aziraphale took it, and before he could say anything else, the being was gone. 

He went inside, sat down at his desk, and unrolled the parchment. (He was going to pretend it was parchment) It was filled with black script that wasn’t so much written on the page as burned into it. Viewing this document would have burned human eyes in much the same way as Aziraphale’s true Form would. It was an order written in the language of Hell and signed by none other than Hastur. 

A direct translation to English was impossible, but the essence was enough to make Aziraphale want to go down to Hell and douse the entire world with holy water. It only just skirted the direct orders of Beelzebub to leave Crowley alone. Instead, it directed a minor imp to place a spell on Crowley that would switch the demon’s essence (soul) with a human essence (soul) that resided in Hell. 

Aziraphale crumpled the document and tossed it across the room, a bellow of rage forming in his chest. 

He went to his liquor cabinet and proceeded to drink every bottle he could get his hands on. 

-

Six days later, Aziraphale emerged from his drunken stupor. 

He found the parchment (it wasn’t parchment) and with a thought, engulfed it in holy fire, reducing it beyond ash into the very atoms it was made of, and then he dispersed those to the far reaches of the universe. 

He went to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. It was full of expired food that he willed away, to be replaced with fresh. None of it looked appetizing, and he closed the door on it, sitting down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs and burying his face in his hands. 

The long years of his life stretched away in either direction, suddenly a pressing weight. He’d never felt that before, he’d always had someone to share the burden with, someone who could pass the years with him, a familiar face amongst a sea of anonymous and ever-changing humans. 

And now… Crowley was gone. 

Aziraphale realized he could no longer sense Crowley’s presence. 

-

Aziraphale stayed at the table for a long while, the sun rose and set twice. He had just gathered the will to stand when the door to the bookshop slammed open.

“Aziraphale?” a voice shouted from downstairs. “Aziraphale where are you?”

He jumped to his feet and stumbled toward the stairs, his muscles protesting the sudden use. He practically fell down the stairs, slamming into the wall at the bottom. When he rounded the corner into the bookshop, he beheld a sight. 

A manic-looking Crowley stood in the middle of the stacks, his hair standing on end as he ran his hands through it. He was dressed much the same as he had been last time Aziraphale had seen him, all creams and soft neutrals, but there was something different in his face. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly frozen to the spot, afraid to approach, as if this might be a trick.

“Zira!” Crowley said, stumbling towards Aziraphale.

Before Aziraphale had quite parsed what was happening, Crowley was hugging him, fingers gripping so tightly into the fabric of Aziraphale’s jacket that he could practically feel the demon’s fingerprints. Aziraphale clutched at him just as tightly. 

Finally after long minutes, Crowley released him. He didn’t disengage entirely, just enough so he could look Aziraphale in the face. 

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Hastur,” Crowley growled. “He ordered--”

Aziraphale cut him off, “I saw the document,” he said. “How did you come back?” He left the  _ to me _ off

“I’m not sure,” Crowley said. “How did you get the document?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Someone tall and grey showed up on my front steps a week ago and handed it to me.”

“Let’s sit,” Crowley offered, and tugged Aziraphale up the stairs. Unwilling to part from each other, they collapsed on the couch in the tiny sitting room, Crowley’s arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, their legs pressed together. “How long was I gone?” 

“Almost four months,” Aziraphale said. “You woke up one day and didn’t remember anything.”

“It’s odd,” Crowley said. “I know everything that happened to me, but my body also seems to retain the memories of what it did while the Other was inhabiting it.” He paused a moment, then breathed, “Oh  _ angel _ . The things I said.”

“It wasn’t you,” Aziraphale murmured. 

“Oh but you didn’t know that,” Crowley said. 

“I didn’t,” Aziraphale’s voice was shaking. 

Crowley’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and Aziraphale turned his head into Crowley’s chest. His eyes were suspiciously wet. His body shook on a sob, and suddenly he was wracked with them, great loud ripping things. Crowley held him through it, burying his face in the angel’s hair. 

Finally, Aziraphale gathered his wits back about him, and sniffed. Crowley willed a handkerchief into being and offered it to Aziraphale. 

“What happened to you?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m actually not entirely certain where I went,” Crowley said. “It was like being in a fishbowl in Hastur’s office. He’s got a new corporation, by the way. Looks even worse than the last one.”

Aziraphale snickered. 

“And then two days ago, I was suddenly yanked out of Hell and back into my body. I was in America for some forsaken reason. It took this long to get back here, and I am so  _ sorry _ ,” Crowley said.

“Oh my darling,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not your fault.” Something Crowley said flicked through his head, and he cocked his head. “Two days ago I burned the document. With holy fire. Reduced it to atoms and then scattered those.”

“You smote the document?” Crowley said. “An act of divine intervention. Directly circumventing the order of a Duke of Hell.”

“And that undid the spell,” Aziraphale said. 

“Angel, you brought me back,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale was choked up again, but determined not to cry. Instead he said, “If Hastur ever comes back to this dimension I’m going to eliminate him. Permanently.”

“I’ll help,” Crowley said. “Smiting’s too good for the bastard.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said. 

They sat for a while, soaking up the other’s presence, when Crowley groaned. “Oh no,” he said. “My plants. They’ll all be goners.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “I may have taken liberties.” He gestured to the bedroom, and the door swing open. 

Crowley gasped softly when he saw the green light filtering out. “You… you took care of them?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “You care for them. I couldn’t leave them to die.” 

Crowley leaned toward Aziraphale and captured the angel’s lips with his own. It was a soft, chaste kiss, but it sent a spark down Aziraphale’s spine nonetheless. Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Thank you,” he murmured into the angel’s skin.

Aziraphale said nothing, only smiled. 

-

Crowley was back in his usual clothes, skin tight and dark, and thumbing through a random shelf of mid-nineteenth century books. 

“I don’t suppose you know which tow company has the Bentley?” he asked Aziraphale, who was doing some sort of recordkeeping. 

“Actually, she’s a few blocks away,” Aziraphale said. “I got her a spot in a garage. The hooligans were eyeing her.”

“You’re too good for me, angel,” Crowley said, coming up behind Aziraphale and leaning into him. 

Aziraphale sat up and tipped his head back so he was looking up at Crowley. The demon wasn’t wearing shades, and his serpent eyes gazed back at Aziraphale. 

“Wouldn’t change you for the world, though,” Crowley said.

“Nor I you,” Aziraphale said. 

“Stuck with me, then,” Crowley said. 

“For a good long while, I suspect,” Aziraphale said. 

“I think I can live with that,” Crowley said. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I can be found anywhere a plant quivers @fireflyslove


End file.
